


Recall and Reunion

by stevenstone



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, McGenji Valentine Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:04:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9677231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevenstone/pseuds/stevenstone
Summary: “So,” McCree says. “Where do we go from here?”Genji interlaces his hand with McCree’s. “Why don’t we find out?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> part of the [McGenji Valentine Exchange](https://mcgenjivalentine.tumblr.com)! this is for tumblr user [ruushes](https://ruushes.tumblr.com), hope you enjoy! the prompts were 1) Moving in/living together - something domestic and fluffy, 2) Reuniting after a long time spent apart, 3) First time realizing/acknowledging their attraction towards the other (an 'oh no he's cute' moment). i tried to do something with the last two (also sorry I'm so bad with titles aaa)

Five years is a strange amount of time. Not short enough for it to pass quickly or to say it’s nothing at all, but certainly not long enough for the nostalgia to start to sting or for memories to ripen with fondness. He misses his friends and Overwatch’s former glory, but with the kind of closure, or lack thereof, McCree had had with the organization, he’s not sure if even ten years would have been enough time to come to terms with what had happened. If there’s one thing McCree _is_ sure about, it’s that five years is a long time to be alone, and he would be lying if he said he’s not looking forward to reconnecting with the most meaningful part of his life.

He’d received the notice almost a week ago. It had started off as a typical Friday night. McCree passed out at a bar, wrapped in his scarf with a drink in his hand. Except this time, he woke up in a well-furnished room -- one of those “fancy, rich folk hotels” -- with a note beside his pillow. The message itself was vague ( _Your stay tonight has been taken care of. Please check the bedside table before you leave_ ) and everything about the situation had screamed “trap.” McCree’s curiosity, though, had ultimately gotten the better of him, as it often inevitably did. 

As he opened up the small box he found on the table, he thought to himself that if he _was_ killed from this, at least he would have died comfortably. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a real bed or even been in an air-conditioned room for more than a few minutes. Fortunately, the box contained a holographic message rather than a threat, and the rest, of course, was history. Overwatch, five years after falling from grace and forced into hiding, was being recalled by Winston and Athena.  

McCree’s initial reaction had been to go about business as usual and pretend nothing had happened. He’d quit Blackwatch for a reason, and he only felt more sure of his decision when Overwatch as a whole fell apart mere months after he had left. While the past five years had been rough and unforgiving, he’d established a new life and a name for himself, as infamous as it may be, and was still fighting for what he believed in, this time without the politics. He’d also had no contact with any of his former friends -- a fugitive couldn’t exactly just make a phone call or send off an email. A reunion could easily just end up being awkward and complicated.

But the recall got McCree thinking seriously again about his former life for the first time in a long while. Many memories came flooding back, like the days spent training under Captain Amari, his biggest role model at the time and, perhaps, even now. Nights spent joking around and laughing along with his first and last real friends. The Deadlock Gang had never been a group to foster friendship, after all, and his current “occupation” didn’t afford the luxury of making friends. Blackwatch life wasn’t perfect, hell, it was chock-full of flaws. Still, it was also never uneventful, and he’d always been surrounded by others. Being an outlaw on the side of justice had its exciting moments, but it was lonely and unrewarding.

The truth was, McCree realized, he missed Overwatch.

And so, fast forwarding to the present, the ex-Blackwatch agent now finds himself stowed away in the cargo hold of a ship headed to the Mediterranean, excited and anxious about what awaits at Watchpoint: Gibraltar (“No safer place for a reunion,” holo-Winston had mentioned). He feels a twinge of sadness as he thinks of seeing his old friends again, especially Genji. Genji had been the first to leave the organization, slipping away one night without a word to anyone. It had hurt McCree more than he could express at that time, since he’d felt closest to the cyborg than to anyone else. Overwatch had never felt the same in the days following Genji’s departure. Now, McCree is more understanding, accepting that something must have deeply upset Genji for him to have left the way he did. He just hopes the two of them can try and return to what they used to have.

The ship’s horn goes off, and McCree is abruptly startled out of his thoughts. Rubbing his ears lightly, he opens one of the crates and jumps inside just as the doors to the hold open. He holds his breath and lies still as a crane lifts him out of the ship, heaving a sigh of relief as the circling beams of the lighthouse narrowly miss him. The night sky is dark enough to keep his figure hidden for the most part, but the wide gaps in the crate will give him away in a heartbeat if illuminated. Once he’s certain that he can leave undetected, McCree climbs out of the crate and makes his way out onto the main road.

It’s been many years since he has last been anywhere near Watchpoint: Gibraltar, but he’d been assigned enough missions around the Rock of Gibraltar in the past to still remember how to get to the outpost. His heart rate skyrockets in anticipation as he walks, and he changes to a slow jog after a few minutes in an attempt to shake off the anxiety. Soon enough, he comes across a massive gate, behind which lies a structure seemingly void of life, just barely touched by moonlight. A flag waves furiously in the distance, and though its contents are obscured, McCree knows it to be none other than the Overwatch symbol. He soaks in the atmosphere for a few minutes before running his hands through the centerpiece of the gate to find a hidden indentation. He places his index finger on it, and as the gates open, a small, blue streak of light dances toward him. Before he has time to react, McCree is nearly tackled to the ground by an unknown assailant.

“Jesse!” Lena Oxton is beaming at him, nearly squeezing the life out of his lungs through her embrace. McCree, whose primarily physical contact has been handshakes or fistfights for the last five years, finds himself momentarily at a loss. He hesitantly returns her hug.

“Lena,” he pats her back. “Been too long, darling.”

“It sure has,” she agrees, finally relinquishing her hold on him as the two are approached by Winston, who claps McCree on the shoulder.

“Glad to have you back, Agent McCree.”

McCree laughs softly. “Good to be home.”

***

It’s a strange sight to see Watchpoint: Gibraltar in its current state, a base that was once bustling with life now home only to a gorilla and the occasional seagull. As he follows Winston and Tracer toward the main office, McCree recalls various memories of his time here as he looks around. Lunches in the second floor lounge spent admiring the view from inside -- though it was always hard to say whether the rocket or the ocean behind it was the more spectacular sight. Sparring matches between Morrison and Reyes in the training area, back in a happier time when politics hadn’t tainted their friendship. Once, Reyes had nearly overslept for a meeting and had to attend in his pajamas and a ridiculous bedhead, a stark change from his usual orderly and serious attire. Ana didn’t let him live it down for a month. Not exactly a whole lot of memories, as McCree had only been stationed here a handful of times and never with his friends, but all fond ones nonetheless.

A young woman with bright, red hair and a young man wearing some sort of strange device on his ear greet McCree when he enters the office. Lena blinks to the woman’s side and throws an arm around her, startling her in the process.

“This here’s my girlfriend, Emily,” she exclaims, as the redhead regains her composure to wave at him. “And this guy,” Lena continues, “shouldn’t need an introduction, but I’m guessing you haven’t been keeping with the times.”

“Guilty as charged,” McCree acknowledges.

“That’s alright!” the man grins, raising an arm to salute him. “Name’s Lucio, musician by trade. Hopin’ to heal some folks with my music.”

Winston walks over to a desk and pulls out several containers of peanut butter and bananas from one of the drawers, offering them to the others. Only Lucio accepts.

“A recall’s been on my mind for some time now,” the scientist says, impatiently opening up a jar of peanut butter and scooping up a spoonful. He scarfs it down along with an entire banana and pauses to toss the peel into the trash before resuming. “I’ve been keeping tabs on people who could be new recruits. Lucio’s something of a national icon for his social work in Brazil so, naturally, he was one of the first people I thought to invite. ”

McCree nods, making a mental note to read up on Lucio’s accomplishments when he has the chance. He’s proud that the loss of Overwatch didn’t lead to the loss of heroes around the world. There was hope yet, then, that with people like Lucio on board, Overwatch might be resurrected to its former status.

He chats with the others into the late hours of the night until everyone agrees to try and catch some sleep. Over the next few days, more people start to trickle in. The following noon bring a group of former members that McCree recognizes, the most prominent being Torbjorn Lindholm, but no one he had ever been closely acquainted with. On the third evening, a young girl by the name of Hana Song arrives (“She’s a _legend_ ,” Lucio tells him. “Dude, how do you not know who she is?!”), and the base starts to feel livelier.

At the end of the week, Genji Shimada shows up at Watchpoint: Gibraltar.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s just past midnight, and everyone has been passing the time munching on snacks and listening to some of Lucio’s tunes, when Lena abruptly jumps up and points at the screen. Some sort of omnic with glowing orbs hovering around their neck is visible near the gates, their attention focused on someone just cut off from the camera’s field of vision.

“That’s Zenyatta!” Lena gushes excitedly. “Winston, how’d you get ahold of the Shambali?”

“You could say I had connections,” Winston answers vaguely, adjusting his glasses. He leaves to greet the newcomers, and Lena tags along, her curiosity demanding to know more. When the two return, they are accompanied by the aforementioned Zenyatta and a certain cyborg ninja.

McCree is paralyzed at first, watching from the back of the room as Lucio vigorously shakes Zenyatta’s hand and Hana introduces herself to Genji. He slumps against the couch, unsure of what to do and his brain unwilling to allow him to get up. Eventually, the idle chatter begins to die down, and he panics as the group moves toward him. McCree shuts his eyes and pretends to sleep, hoping to buy time to plan a course of action that doesn’t result in him completely embarrassing himself. What he isn’t expecting is for Genji to sit beside him and elbow him in the shoulder, soft enough for it to not hurt but forcefully enough to wake him even if he truly was asleep. McCree jolts up and turns to find himself mere inches from a familiar visor with a green tint.

“Yo.”

The cowboy is breathless. “Howdy.”

Genji waves his hand dismissively. “You know,” he says cheekily. “I expected a better welcome from you after all this time.”

“H-hold on,” McCree stammers, hating the way his face burns as Genji chuckles in response. “Y’just caught me off guard, is all!”

Zenyatta and Lucio occupy the couch in front of them, the former murmuring a polite greeting as he does so.

“Master,” Genji’s tone softens as he turns to face the monk. “This is Jesse McCree. Jesse, this is Zenyatta, my teacher and someone I am very indebted to.”

“Jesse,” Zenyatta hums. “Genji has told me much about you. It is an honor to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” Something about the omnic’s voice is quite soothing, and as his nerves begin to calm down, McCree suddenly registers exactly what Zenyatta had said. “Wait, he has?”

“Mhm,” replies Genji. “Nothing good, of course.”

That earns a laugh from the entire group. As everyone converses amicably, another hour passes quickly, though McCree finds himself growing increasingly agitated. He knows how selfish of a request it is, but he wants some time alone with Genji to catch up. So many years of separation cannot be resolved in a “yo” and a “howdy,” but McCree knows it is not the right setting for the conversation they need to have. He decides to be the first to retire for the night and, as he collapses into bed and passes out, his rampant emotions are smothered, for the moment, with a warm blanket and his usual snoring.

McCree’s wish is granted earlier than he expects, as the cyborg shows up to his quarters first thing in the morning.

“How’d you know where I was?” he asks as he lets Genji in, trying in vain to tame his bedhead as he closes the door.

“Athena.”

“Oh.”

McCree clears his throat. “So, how are you?

“Good,” answers Genji. “Better than I’ve ever been. And yourself?”

“Well, you know,” McCree frowns. How _is_ he? He doesn’t really know. He’s never really stopped to think about that. “I’ve been making do.”

“I see.”

The room is quiet after that, both sides struggling to make conversation. “Genji, uh…,” McCree attempts to ease the strangling hold of silence but loses steam and trails off. He doesn’t _want_ to jump right into things, but he knows they have to get past this hurdle before they can get anywhere. “I just… I was wondering, er--”

“You wish to know why I left and never told you, correct?”

“That easy to read, huh?”

Genji snorts. “Well, I suppose I do owe you an explanation.” He sighs, walking toward the window and leaning against it. “I wanted to find a sense of purpose.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“I joined for a reason. Revenge. But I didn’t get the closure I expected, and Overwatch started to feel more like a prison than a haven.” He pauses. “I didn’t tell you because you would have stopped me.”

“Ah.” _That the whole story…?_

“You don’t believe me?”

 _Shit_. His face must have given him away. McCree shakes his head. “Nah, that ain’t it. I believe you, but… I reckon you ain’t tellin’ me everything.”

“Perceptive.”

McCree places a hand on Genji’s shoulder and squeezes lightly. “I ain’t gonna force you. I’m just happy to see you doin’ fine now.”  

The silence returns for a while, though it is less uncomfortable. “I suppose,” Genji starts, moving to cover McCree’s hand with his own. His touch is surprisingly warm. “It would be more accurate to say my _body_ felt like a prison. I hated what Overwatch turned me into. Not flesh enough to be a man, not machine enough to be an omnic. I saw myself as a monster.”  

McCree’s stomach twists in guilt. He hadn’t ever had even the faintest idea that Genji had been suffering so much.

“I started to hate being around people,” Genji continues. “Resented them for living lives I would never get to have. Eventually, it became too much to bear, and I left and never looked back.”

“Where’d you go?”

“I didn’t have anything in mind. I guess I just wandered. Until I met Zenyatta. I was too consumed by rage to take him seriously at first but…” Genji’s voice is gentle. McCree can sense just how important the monk must be to him. “Overwatch saved my life, but my master showed me how to live it.”   

“Well, I oughta take him out for a drink sometime then. Er,” McCree furrows his brows slightly in confusion. “I reckon that ain’t an option.”

The cyborg laughs, and McCree smiles despite himself. He’s suddenly very conscious of their hands still together and makes an excuse to adjust his scarf, feeling unexpectedly warm. “Still,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I appreciate what he did for you.”

“As do I. He is the one who encouraged me to answer the recall. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to return.”

“I’m mighty glad you did.” McCree hesitates. “I-it’s good to see you again.”

“You too, my friend.”

***

The recall is, to his pleasant surprise, a far better impact on McCree’s life than he could have expected. He’s rebuilding old friendships and forging new ones, growing closer to the new recruits. Hana finds an old gaming lounge with still usable equipment on one of the floors, and nightly gaming sessions (in other words, Hana and Genji utterly wrecking everyone else) become standard. McCree and Genji have also fallen back into their old routine, spending at least some time together every day.

One afternoon, McCree is enjoying a particularly delicious breakfast sandwich when Zenyatta, Hana, and Lucio join him.

“Hiya,” chirps Hana. She settles down beside him, putting down a plate of waffles and a glass of juice on the table.

“Hey there. Genji not with you guys?”

“Genji is touching up his visor,” Zenyatta responds. “He should be with us soon.”

“Gotcha,” McCree answers, taking another bite into his food. He notices Hana and Lucio exchange glances. “What’s up?”

“Well, we were just wondering,” Lucio says, looking thoughtful. “You and Genji, what’s going on there?”

“Uh, what?”

Hana takes a sip of her drink. “I mean, you like him, right?”

McCree begins to feel uneasy. He knows exactly what she’s asking but decides to play dumb regardless. “Yes? We’re good frien--”

“You know that’s not what we mean.”

“I must admit,” Zenyatta chimes in. “I am rather curious as well.”

McCree avoids their inquiring gazes to focus on his sandwich. Genji is his friend, and he’s glad to have him in his life. What else is there to say? “I have no idea what y’all are talking about.”

Lucio sighs in frustration. “Right, so you turning redder than primal Winston when you first saw him again was--”

“Yo!”

McCree nearly chokes on his sandwich as Genji sits down across from him, his visor off. Lucky for McCree, it seems he hadn’t caught any of their conversation.

“All set?” Zenyatta asks.

“No, not quite,” Genji says. “The polish needs to stay for some time. But it’s rather uninteresting sitting alone with some metal.” He grins, and McCree feels winded. He’s only seen Genji’s face once before, and he’d forgotten what he looked like behind the mask over the years.

How had he not realized before? Then again, McCree thinks to himself, this kind of thing is never obvious until one day, something, even the tiniest action, hits hard. As Genji’s smile threatens to drown him, McCree feels heat rushing to his face and attempts to hide behind his hat as best he can, vehemently ignoring the smug looks Hana and Lucio are giving him.

He stays relatively quiet in the ensuing conversation, speaking up occasionally only as to not seem suspicious. Eventually, Genji leaves to check back on his visor. As soon as the man is out of sight, McCree groans and leans forward, throwing his head into his hands.

“I guess y’all were right,” he huffs. “How’d you know?”

“Man, you are the most obvious dude in the world,” Lucio snickers. “Not obvious enough for Genji, I guess.”

“R-really?”

“I mean,” Hana downs the rest of her drink. “You always look at him like… like Torbjorn at his turrets.”

Lucio shudders. “Now that’s just unnecessary.”

“Ugh,” McCree rubs his forehead. “What do I even do?”

“Tell him,” Zenyatta responds immediately. “I am confident it will have a good outcome.”

“B-but what if--”

“You can trust me on this.”

***

It takes McCree a few days to come to grips with this recent revelation. Genji had been a constant in his life back in Overwatch, the two even taking time to call each other as much as possible when they were stationed at separate ends of the globe. It was true that McCree never foresaw a future that didn’t involve Genji, and he had felt extremely upset and even a bit lost for years after the Shimada had disappeared. But love wasn’t something McCree had any experience with. Attachments were liabilities and risks in the Deadlock gang, and the nature of working for Blackwatch didn’t make things any easier. On his own, he would have never realized what exactly Genji meant to him. Confronted with it now, McCree feels overwhelmed.

Once the initial shock wears off, McCree agonizes over the best possible strategy for admitting how he feels, ultimately settling on the straightforward route. The next time he and Genji are alone, he’ll cut right to the chase. McCree gets such an opportunity one morning in the breakfast lounge, nearly empty except for Genji. With how quickly word spreads around the base, McCree is fairly sure this isn’t a coincidence.

“Hey,” Genji greets him, sounding relieved. He must have been waiting for company for a while. “I guess everyone decided to sleep in today.”

McCree chuckles. He’ll have to thank the others for this later. “Well, this place ain’t terribly exciting with no one around. What d’ya say to a walk?”

“Are you sure? Don’t you wish to eat?”

“Nah, I ain’t hungry.” His stomach decides to take that exact moment to growl, but he manages to cover it with a well-timed cough.

“Okay,” Genji shrugs. “Lead the way.”

They take a stroll around the watchpoint, chatting and sharing stories about their respective stays here in the past, before stopping by the rocket. Watchpoint: Gibraltar leaves quite an impression on its own, but nothing is more striking than the view of the towering shuttle with the vast and tumultuous sea behind it.

“I tried to climb that once,” Genji mentions.

“You what now?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. Also, Commander Morrison caught me and gave me an earful.”

They laugh and take a moment to admire the view. McCree mulls over his choices in his mind before turning to the cyborg, his expression serious.

“Genji, I uh… There’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to talk to you about.”

“Is something the matter?”

 _This is it_. McCree lets out a deep breath. “I, uh. You mean a lot to me.” He falters. “No, that don’t quite mean exactly what I want it to...”

A pause. “Ah.”

McCree inhales sharply. Despite his lack of coherence, Genji seems to have understood. He waits restlessly for a response that doesn’t seem to come, and assuming the worst, he throws in hastily, “N-never mind, forget that, my mind don’t seem to be workin--”

Genji’s arms are around him, instantly derailing his train of thought. McCree returns the embrace, his heart going haywire. “Genji?”

“I was just taken aback,” the man answers. “I had accepted we would remain friends and nothing more, and I was content with that.”

“What?”

“I’ve had feelings for you since our Overwatch days.”

“H-huh? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“For the same reason I left.”

“Oh.” McCree tightens his hold around him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. At least we are here, now.” They remain in each other’s arms for a few seconds more when Genji steps back without warning. “Don’t think I didn’t see you, young lady.”

McCree turns around to see Lena reluctantly step out from behind a rock, a small tablet in her hands. Genji grabs the device from her, and McCree sees the guilty faces of Hana, Emily, and Lucio on it. An orb of some kind is visible near the bottom of the screen.

“You too, master?”

Zenyatta floats into view, and McCree can’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry, my student,” the omnic says ashamedly. “I was too curious for my own good.”

Genji sighs. “Here,” he hands the tablet back to Lena, who avoids eye contact as she rocks back and forth on her feet, no doubt feeling embarrassed. “We will join you all soon.” She nods and blinks away, and Genji and McCree are alone again.

“So,” McCree says. “Where do we go from here?”

Genji interlaces his hand with McCree’s. “Why don’t we find out?”


End file.
